I love books. It’s really hard for me to put my finger on what precisely about them creates my instant love affair, but somehow, they are some of my most prized possessions.
Perhaps it is the fact that they are repositories of knowledge, and, deep down, I believe that people who control knowledge are powerful. Perhaps it is the physicality of their covers and crisp pages. Perhaps it is even just simply a reverence for something that has brought me untold hours of entertainment and growth. Who knows?
Up in northern Topeka, there is a book bindery used by publishers who want to save a lot of money. The company is called Econo-clad, and their books have covers that look like someone slapped a rough piece of linoleum over a heavy sheet of chip-board. Other than the spines, the books don’t have lettering or pictures on the covers. All in all, it’s a very cheap way to go.
However, every year, they redeem themselves just a little bit in my eyes by holding a massive book-sale. Any books that are counted as extras or that were rejected by the publishers are placed out in a big tent in their parking lot. Some years, books are priced individually. Other years, they give you a big brown grocery sack and say, “all the books you can fit in here for $10.” Either way, it amounts to big savings on decent books.
The problem is that I always miss the sale. It isn’t really published anywhere that I’ve ever seen, and if I hear about it at all in a given year, it is usually after it has just ended. So, it is understandable that I was ecstatic last weekend when my mother remarked that the sale was coming up October 6 -9, and that if I would let her, she would play ‘beneficent mother’ and purchase me lots and lots of books.
A book-sale and my mother buying things for her broke and penniless son? How could I refuse? I told her that I would come by on Saturday morning, and we could go out there together and check out the book-sale.
Today, I had a message on my voicemail from my father. He was just calling to ask me to come check on the dogs, water plants, and bring in the mail on Saturday, because this afternoon, he, my mother, and the junkie who lives with them (Jeff) are leaving on a vacation to Silver Dollar City, in Branson, Missouri. They won’t be back until Sunday night.
I was sort of looking forward to spending some time with my mother, getting some books, and basking in that special feeling that comes along with owning new things (believe me, I can understand people who get addicted to shopping… owning new things rocks). Instead, my parents are taking their new son (nevermind the rage of their two actual sons) on vacation.
I’m a little upset about this because it means several things. First, it means that my mother forgot about her promise and our plans. Second, it means that I’ll miss the book-sale again this year, since I am, after all, broke and penniless and can’t afford even a $10 brown paper sack of books. Third, Jeff has for a long time now been wanting to go to Silver Dollar City, so I think this vacation was his idea, and that means that his interests took precedence over mine when it came to their plans this weekend. Fourth, I haven’t been on a family vacation since my parents took my brother and I to see a traveling show about treasures of ancient Egypt when it was in St. Louis… and that was when I was at Northern Hills Junior High. My parents went on other vacations, but as usual I couldn’t pay my way on them, so I stayed at home with the dogs. I know that Jeff can’t pay his way, so they must be paying for him. I didn’t have any plans this weekend, other than the book-sale, but I wasn’t invited. So I’m missing a vacation that I could otherwise have gone on, and he’s getting preferential treatment to how my brother and I got treated. Fifth and finally, I could always just say, 'Well, there's always next year,' except for the fact that there isn't a next year... not for me anyway. A year from now, when the sale next comes back, I'll be 1883 miles away, so this was my last chance to go, and I'll miss it.
Maybe some of these things are petty, but even if they are, it doesn’t change the fact that it means that this weekend is shot, and that I’m already crashing, psychologically. Mania is fantastic. The opposite blows.
